


Run away with Me

by Khaesii



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1910s, Alternate Universe - World War I, Angst, British English, English countryside setting, Grimmjow is four years older than Ichigo, Ichigo works on a farm, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Kon is a dog, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-13
Packaged: 2018-04-26 03:27:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4988383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khaesii/pseuds/Khaesii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ichigo briefly wonders who it was that was killed by that plane, whether they were German, or English. But does it matter? They’ll still leave their families behind, just like anyone else. Maybe there’s someone like him waiting for them to come home, someone that’s too weak to make it in such a cruel world by them-selves.</p><p> </p><p>  <s> Honestly don't read this??? Like i was an angsty human being at this point in my life, i mean i don't want to delete it but???? don't do that to yourself. </s></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Left Behind

The monotone ticking of the clock roused Ichigo from his sleep, his face was sore, a pattern of lines in vivid red; the imprint from the books he had rested on. As he lifted his head from the dark oak desk, his befogged mind awakening-the moment of tranquillity as one first awakes- with no recollection of losses or tragic events.  
  
This moment was shattered with the distant yet terror inducing thunder of a bomb. Slapped awake- Ichigo’s mind worked like rushed cogs, what time is it? How long had he slept? Is he home, yet? Brown eyes searched a dim and empty room; devoid of the atmosphere such a man could create, no, he was not home.  
  
Ichigo glanced to the clock, ticking away on the mantelpiece, time draws on- it has not a care for the hope it takes with it.  
  
A shaking hand drags across a fatigued face, and Ichigo moves towards the lamp, his limbs creak from the workload meant for two. Mental exhaustion leaves his skin pale; the warm light from the oil light creates deep, malnourished dips and hollows on his face.  
  
His sisters would scream, if they saw him now. Yet he has no right to think of them at such times, he threw that right away when he left them, when he ran away for a naïve yearning for an exciting life, young love, as they say.  
  
Ichigo lifts the plate of mashed potato and steamed vegetables, cold and unappetising, and takes it to the sink- another meal left untouched. A glance out the window tells him that the sun will rise shortly, seen as he’s up; he may as well start work.  
  
Ichigo ignores the echoes in his mind, the snarky remarks shadowing his thoughts, the cheeky grin, that arrogant smirking heap of muscle leaning against the door frame, illuminated by the rising sun behind him, “ _Hurry the fuck up, Kurosaki, y’re slower than the ol’ Widow Ms. Barnes down the road_.” The ghost chuckles and sniggers at his own little joke, waiting at the door as Ichigo ties his boots and grabs his jacket.  
  
The ghost whistles, and his dog runs to him, as he sets off towards the hill; it follows, looking to his master for his commands. Ichigo watches it, frozen as he pulls on his coat, he leans on the doorframe, where he once stood, and watches it disappear.  
  
The sun peeks over the line of bushes on the horizon, sending a blinding beam of sunlight to warm Ichigo’s cheeks, he shuts his eyes, and if he thinks hard enough, he can feel him.  
  
He’s walking up the gravel road, his boots crunching, his dog barking in excitement as he throws it a stick, he stops, he turns, and he waits, he waits for Ichigo, ready to start work -fix the fence up near the north creek.  
  
A whine brings Ichigo from his delusion; he opens his eyes to an empty road, darkened by overhanging shadows from the trees. A hand wipes a drop of moisture from his face, and he looks down at a gentle face, a beige paw is brought to his knee, almost like a sign of sympathy.  
  
A laugh devoid of humour breaches his lips, and he crouches down, resting a cold hand atop a soft, warm head. “I’m sorry, Kon,” A voice cracked from lack of use, greets the collie “I shouldn’t be so glum, right boy? I’ve got you with me after all, and we have work to do.” He straightens up, takes a sharp breath of the biting morning air, and locks the door behind him.  
  
As he climbs the hill, now a mountain for his overburdened body, the dog does not bark and chase sticks, and he does not hear the audacious challenges, a race?  
  
_I’m sorry, Grimmjow, I’ll be lucky if I make it up the road._  
  
Ichigo heaves the wooden poles and rope around his shoulder and the dog sits at the top, waiting for him, hurry up. Ichigo fights with broken, heaving breaths, his knees groan with the pressure, the split skin on his hands getting splintered by the wood.  
  
_Forget Ms.Barnes, ya’d be lucky to beat the vicar’s fuckin’ donkey in a race_.  
  
And he knows, he won’t make it through the winter like this, every day gets harder, there’s no one to help- there’s no one he can run to, and such work was never meant for one scrawny boy.  
  
_It’s your bloody fault if we lose all the fuckin’ sheep, Ichigo._  
  
The trickle of the creak reaches his ears.  
  
_Don’t be so vulgar, Grimmjow._  
  
The mud grabs his feet, and the dog barks with impatience as he stops for the umpteenth time to catch his breath. His breath clouds in sharp bursts, his fingers freeze numbly as he claws the wood for a grip.  
  
He can see it though, the broken fence, he increases his pace-spurred on by echoing insults inside his head,  
  
_tha’ god damned snail ‘as reached ‘ere faster than you, what did I tell ya, you can’t do fuckin’ anythin’ by yerself._  
  
Weak arms pull broken poles from the ground, creating deep gashes in the mud from their weight,  
  
_yeah I know, it’s not funny anymore though, is it, Grimmjow._  
  
The flocked sheep bleat in the background, their little legs freezing in the cold. Kon sits, and he watches, guarding his owner’s mate in his absence. Ichigo takes a break to look around, the morning landscape is stunning, hill-views for miles.  
  
Smoke rises from a field closer to the town, a fallen spitfire, most likely.  
  
Ichigo briefly wonders who it was that was killed by that plane, whether they were German, or English. But does it matter? They’ll still leave their families behind, just like anyone else. Maybe there’s someone like him waiting for them to come home, someone that’s too weak to make it in such a cruel world by them-selves.  
  
Ichigo stops himself before he thinks too hard, and continues his work in the shadow of the trees. The sun is hidden high behind a blanket of cloud by the time he has finished; he has cuts from barbed wire traveling his arms and mud streaked across his face.  
  
He sits underneath the tree to nibble at an apple, and closes his eyes to listen to the sheep and the calming rhythm of the stream.  
  
_“Run away with me, Ichigo! We’ll go somewhere where no one’ll care, where no one ‘as to know.”_ A voice echoes in his ear, a memory. _“Don’t be stupid, Grimmjow, where would this wonderful place be?” A naïve idea, from a naïve pair of idiots in love. “ Does it matter? I ‘ave money, we could go anywhere, I’m twenty-one, Ichigo, I don’ wan’ to stay here forever, and I don’ wan’ to be denied a job for bein’ a faggot nomore.” I know, I’m holding you back, you don’t have to deal with this abuse, you could run away. “But what about me, Grimmjow, I’m only seventeen. I can’t just leave.” A tear rolled down a young cheek, and a hand reached up to brush against a yellowing bruise. “But why would ya wan’ to stay, look at ya, ya can’t hide behind the excuse of school fights anymore, ya could get away from these fuckin’ bastards.” Brown eyes closed and leant into a loving touch. Yeah, what could go wrong, if I’m with you._  
  
A Soft muzzle rested on Ichigo’s thigh, as Ichigo shook and trembled, Kon whined and lay next to him, nudging him with his dirtied paw.  
  
The cold had frozen down to his bones, fatigue dared him to move, dared him to try. His head hit the frosted bark of the tree behind him, weighted with a different kind of sleep.  
  
_Grimmjow stood at the door, bags on his shoulders, Kon barking at his feet. “I won’ be gone long, Ichigo, it’ll be over by Christmas. ‘Ey, I’ll come back with enough money to build that new barn for the herd, less worrying during the winter, righ’?” His voice was soft, reassuring, don’t be a baby, Ichigo. Ichigo looked to his feet, his vibrant orange locks just reaching his eyes. “I can’t take care of the farm by myself, Grimmjow.” A voice of protest so quiet it could only be heard by trained ears left his mouth, and Grimmjow sighed, approaching him and placing a hand against his cheek. “Yeh, I know. But ya got Kon to ‘elp,” the dog barked at his master’s mention of his name, so annoyingly biased, that dog. “ I’ll be back to help before ya know it, when the war ends, an’ if they take too long I’ll get back ‘ere myself. It’s a promise.”_

 

It took longer than Christmas though, didn’t it, Grimmjow? It’s been four Christmas’s, my time to join you has come and gone, I’m too sick, too scrawny , too weak to serve my country- I’m too weak to come and find you.

I’m twenty-one years old, and I’ll have to stay here forever, I haven’t got anyone to run away with anymore.

_Ichigo, ya got sheep ta feed._

_Ya can’t feed yerself if ya can’t feed the sheep._

_Ichigo, wait fer me. I’ll be back for you. Ichigo, wait for me, won’t ya, Ichigo, Ichigo._

“Ichigo.” A ghost’s hand brushes tears from a frozen cheek, the dog is barking, _it’s alright, Kon, you don’t have to worry about me. I’m running away._

Ghost arms wrap around shaking legs and behind a weak neck, a head so heavy it can no longer be lifted leans against a muscled chest, it’s warm, just like it used to be.  
  
As heavy eyelids attempt to open, the sky is suddenly blue again, bright blue, and beautiful.  
  
An old face looks down at him, worn and unshaven, but most of all, sad- that isn’t right; they’ve got it wrong.  
  
This face doesn’t hold any obnoxious confidence, it holds horror and fatigue.  
  
I want to go back to sleep, I want to dream of vulgar language and cocky smirks, but my memory isn’t as it used to be- I’m not what I used to be.  
  
_Grimmjow, let’s get away from here._

_Grimmjow, run away with me._


	2. Wait for Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He shakes and quivers at exploding shells at night, the stress and fear enough to drive any man crazy, but he knows he deserves it, because he left something important behind- he abandoned his most precious thing to fend for itself in a world too cruel for even himself.

A horrifying whistle, then the spray of sea foam, and the muffled sound of an exploding projectile. The screams, the yells, the pleas for help as an ice cold current grabs at the ankles of soldiers thrown into the bottomless depths of the sea below.

Grimmjow knows not to help them, they’ll struggle, but then they’ll be free, the cold shall numb their senses, the water shall mute the sounds of their screaming friends, and then, they shall find peace among the rocking current.

Grimmjow clutches the side of the boat with bleeding fingernails, marks so deep they look almost chiselled by man pattern the splintered wood of the lifeboat, some marks left by him, others by those long dead. 

The deep blue graveyard calls to him, oh how easy it would be if he could jump, if he could surrender to the lapping waves and dream for eternity on a sandy bed.

Yet as these thoughts strike him down during the night, leave him a breath away from plunging himself into the ocean, the sun rises once again.

And each morning he shall say it: he’s never seen a dawn so beautiful, because the closer he gets to home, the brighter the orange becomes. 

A vibrant burst of hope, the stubborn sun shall rise after every frozen night of horror, without fail, it will climb into the sky, whether drowned in grey clouds or left in a blanket of brilliant blue all by itself- not a cloud in sight- it shall still bring its light.

And the suffocating darkness will disperse, with a brilliant orange greeting; the sun rises every day to guide him home.

 _“If you leave me here too long, I shall come and find you my-self.”_ Every morning it brings the same message which fills his heart with regret.

 He shakes and quivers at exploding shells at night, the stress and fear enough to drive any man crazy, but he knows he deserves it, because he left something important behind- he abandoned his most precious thing to fend for itself in a world too cruel for even himself.

When he left that ball of naïve, boisterous energy behind, he lost it forever.  He made a promise to a stubborn yet passionate boy, and he betrayed him, he forced him to transform into an independent man overnight.

A responsibility so heavy it would **crush** Grimmjow was thrown at him, yet Grimmjow knew he’d catch it, he knew he’d shoulder that burden until his legs gave out, _because he’s an idiot._

_A stubborn, beautiful idiot. An idiot who didn’t deserve to be betrayed, to be left behind._

 

The sea is calm in front of him, his fellow soldiers cloaked in a mourning silence, counting the dead, watching for the next plane to fly overhead.

Grimmjow rubs his face, rough stubble scratches his hands, and cheekbones far too sharp can be felt beneath his skin. _I probably look fifty years old._

The adrenaline fades, and Grimmjow is left with a choking feeling of fatigue. Resting his head on a barrel of stale biscuits, he watches the sun- trapped behind a layer or grey cloud, it looks dim.

Yet the light is still strong enough to leave flares in his eyes, Grimmjow closes his eyelids and is left with green imprints, he sees a face in those imprints, and he tries to look at it, but it moves with his gaze. 

Grimmjow is pulled into a fogged sleep; anticipation of reaching the English shore leaving him with restless twitches.

 

 _“An’ if they take too long I’ll get back ‘ere myself. It’s a promise.” Dubious features scowl at him._  
“Right, okay, it’s fine, what you can do I can do five times better…just, come home…soon.”  
Though his words reveal anxiety, a fire ever present in those bright brown eyes shows a passion so strong it would put any man to shame, a will as fierce as ten horses, this boy can do what can’t be done, achieve the impossible, because he believes it. 

_Grimmjow left that farm with no doubt in his mind that it will be exactly the same as he left it when he returned._

_But as the days wore on, the doubt crawled under his skin like a worm in the soil._

_The days turned into months - the worms into snakes._

**_There’s only so far a boy can push, he won’t look for help, he’s too proud for that._ ** _Anagging realisation, one that left him shaking with regret and resentment at night._

**_How could you leave him there, you’re supposed to look after him, that’s what you signed up for when you took him with you._ **

_Words left unsaid haunted his dreams, “You’re not invincible Ichigo, take a break.”, “A lost sheep or two isn’t that big of a deal, **as long as you’re okay.** ”, “Don’t lose hope Ichigo, I’ll be back, no matter what.”, but most of all, he’d give up anything just to say “I love you, Ichigo, don’t forget it.”_

Grimmjow was slapped awake by the echo of gunfire, the drone of a plane flying overhead, smoke rose from its cockpit, but still, it dropped countless bombs, endless bullets. 

The coast of England was in sight, the sun had reached its highest point in the sky, but a dreaded whistle sent shivers down his spine, the impact threw him into the icy water, fragments of shrapnel and wood splinters darting through the water around him like bullets.

**_So close, yet so far._ **

_Two figures stood at the top of the hill, one small, one smaller. A bark reached his ears, sounding distant but familiar. The shapes moved, a dog ran towards him, sprinting down the hill, its coat a beautiful gold in the evening sunset._

_The comforting sound of sheep bleating, lambs playing in the warm spring air._

_The farmhouse stood before him, just like it used to be, old, worn down, but still home._

_But most importantly, slender arms wrapped around him, he inhaled the nostalgic scent of bright orange locks._

_“I’m sorry I took so long, Ichigo.” Innocent eyes full of mischief look at him with understanding, forgiveness. “I promise I won’t go anywhere ever again, Ichigo, I’ll never leave, so please, Ichigo, wait for me.”_

Water fills his airways, starving his brain of oxygen, **I can’t think straight, which way is up?**

The waves churn the debris around him, blocking the sun and dragging him down. He lifts a hand, reaching for someone, anyone.

“ _You’re promises mean nothing to me, Grimmjow.” A skinny figure blocks the sun, its face sharp and hollow, crying tears of blood. “You left me here to die, I’ll never forgive you.”_

_A dog made of bones growls and howls, tearing into the flesh of a sheep’s carcass, the rest of the flock cover the hill._

His lungs plead for air, grabbing at bodies and lose cargo, he becomes desperate.

**Don’t let me die here; I have to go back to him. Even if there’s nothing left but dust, I must return, I promised.**

His vision blurs, the light receding, one last push in a chosen direction before his lungs give out, **please let it be the right one.**

_The farmhouse is ablaze, the memories- good and bad- but memories all the same, burn with it, floating away in the wind._

_Grimmjow reaches for the young body in front of him, his fingers clutching at ash, as it too burns and decays, being carried by the chilling wind far away._

A frantic shape breaches the surface of liquid death; a gasp so desperate it shakes bones accompanies a frustrated scream. Nausea overwhelms him, spinning his head around as he looks for the shore.

There’s no one left, just bodies and broken boats, cheap coffins for those a jump away from home, just a small distance away from those they have now left behind.

Grimmjow doesn’t waste a second, his joints clamp from the cold, each breath draws stabbing pains into his lungs, but it’s not his choice to give up anymore, he’s going home.

_It’s ironic, isn’t it, Grimmjow, you’re the one that was sent to war, yet I’m the one in the most danger._

_I’m the one that’s going to die, because I’m weak, and you left your lamb with the wolves._

**_Shut up, you’re not weak, don’t leave me, Ichigo, I’m coming back for you._ **

Delusions push him forward, muscles long since spent, limbs grab at thin air, hallucinations in the wind.

A figure waiting on the beach gives him energy, enough to fight gravity, and crawl out of the water onto the sand.

Shadows in the trees pull him from the ground and force him forward. _You’re too late._

A head shakes in crazed denial, hands grabbing branches to pull dead weight. _Give up._

“No!” A body running on fumes breaks into a sprint. _Where are you going?_  
  
Without hesitation, Grimmjow runs onto the road, causing screeching wheels, _an automobile._

Shaking knees hit the ground; stones imbed themselves into rough skin.

“I beg of you, take me ‘ome.”

 

 

_You won’t find anything there, there’s nothing here for you anymore, and it’s your fault. **Murderer.**_

The old wooden gate swings shut behind him, the soldier with the hanging head.

He pulls cobweb from his fingers, and limps down the road.

No one greets him when he reaches the door, the soldier with the broken spirit.

_What did you expect._

A bitter voice crushes hope, as he grabs the key from around his neck.

The lock clicks, and the soldier pauses. _What was that sound?_

A bleat so faint it could be mistaken as a figment of the imagination reaches his ears.

But it’s beautiful, if only he could listen forever.

The soldier leaves the door, and runs, the pain in his legs insignificant.

He battles the hill he remembers strolling up, calling, in a voice too quiet, too broken.

Tears of frustration threaten to spill. _Please, tell me I’m not too late._

The sheep, where are they? He stops to listen, and calls again, a faint raspy whisper.

But more than capable ears pick up that sound, and a bark loud and full of life rings.

“Kon!” louder, this time. “Where are ya, buddy?”  The barks are frantic, accompanied by whines and howls, but still the dog does not come.

The soldier follows the calls of his dog; he sees the sheep, the footprints.

The dog, and the figure by the tree.

His breath catches, and he stumbles towards him.  Kon is sat by him, his coat matt coloured and thin. 

Grimmjow falls to his knees over the figure, and brings a hand to his cheek, covered in dull, overgrown hair that looks so unhealthy it’s almost brown.

It’s cold, and pulled tight over bone, but most of all it’s pale with exhaustion.

“Ichigo.” Eyes flicker under closed eyelids. _I’m so sorry, Ichigo._

He pulls him into his arms, and lifts him, _so light, like a doll_.

As he looks down at him, eyes open, eyes full of sorrow and devoid of life.

They close again, his brain too fatigued to register his presence.

And if he looks at him, he could cry.

Because he waited, he waited until his legs gave out, and now he’s repaid his promise.

_Don’t run away without me, Ichigo._

_Don’t leave me behind._


End file.
